Alas, Poor William, I Knew Him Well
by Ruuger
Summary: After having a row with Spike, Dru decides to find someone new who will love her forever and ever and ever. Pure crack with no redeeming value whatsoever.


It wasn't unusual for Drusilla to go missing for weeks when she was cross with him, so Spike was pleasantly surprised when she returned at the break of dawn only two nights after their row.

He had already retired for the day when she came back, the sound of the door closing behind her rousing him from his sleep. A moment later he felt the mattress tipping slightly as Drusilla sat down on the bed behind him and slipped between the sheets.

"Shhhh," she whispered, her voice tinged with laughter. "Mustn't wake up the baby."

"That's nice, love," Spike muttered sleepily into his pillow. "Just leave it on the floor when you're finished, and I'll get rid of the body after dark."

Drusilla giggled, and when she leaned over to kiss him, Spike could feel something hard press against his back. "Don't be silly, Spike, I'm going to keep him forever."

Suddenly wide awake, Spike could feel cold chills run down his spine at her words. The last time he'd heard that tone in her voice had been back in '02 when she'd gotten into her head to take Drac's whole "children of the night" nonsense literally. The poncy bastard still owed him eleven quid for all the ruined shoes.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Spike sat up and then slowly turned around to face Drusilla. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, cradling something large and round wrapped in a tattered dirty sheet. She smelled of earth and grass, and dewdrops glistened on her pale skin. Her blouse was open, revealing the white flesh of her breast, red blood smeared across it like an impressionistic painting. She cooed at the bundle in her lap and then let out a small giggle.

Spike gave the room a quick run-over before wiping his hand across his face to rub away the last of the sleep in his eyes. "Dru, darling... What. Did. You. Do?"

Drusilla laughed again, and with a cheerful "Ta-dah!" turned around the bundle she was holding, proudly presenting it to Spike. "Say hello to daddy!"

It was a watermelon. A dark green watermelon with thick red veins crisscrossing the glistening surface. She leaned over to gently lay the melon in Spike's lap.

Spike stared at the watermelon. The watermelon, despite a distinct lack of eyes, stared back.

"It's a watermelon," Spike said, as if putting it into words might change the fact. It didn't. "A watermelon," he repeated, just in case.

Drusilla scooted forward to straddle Spike's legs, and then pulled him roughly by his hair to a kiss. Spike returned the kiss absentmindedly, uncomfortably concious of the melon trapped awkwardly between them. When Drusilla released his hair, Spike glanced down at the melon again.

On Drusilla-scale, adopting a watermelon was somewhere between turning Bela Lugosi and trying to teach a wolf pup to sing hymns, but there was still something in the way that the watermelon was looking at him - mostly the fact that it seemed like _the watermelon_ was _looking at him_ - that made the hair in Spike's neck stand on end.

He shook his head and leaned over to kiss Drusilla again, chuckling at his own paranoia.

"Dru, it's a watermelon," he whispered against her lips, and then reached down to push the melon away from between them.

His fingers had barely touched the melon, however, when it suddenly began to shake violently. Spike yelped and jumped back, pushing the thing away from him.

"Jesus Christ, Dru! What the hell did you do?"

Drusilla scowled at him as she gathered the enormous fruit to her arms, seemingly oblivious to the way it kept wriggling in her lap, making a quiet 'brrrl'-sound.

"I made a baby!"

Spike reluctantly tore his eyes away from the watermelon and stared at Drusilla instead. "You turned a bloody pumpkin?"

"A watermelon," Drusilla corrected him, petting the fruit in question. She closed her eyes and tilted her head. "And I think I shall call him William."

"Oh no, no you won't," Spike said, wincing at the whinging tone in his own voice. "_I'm_ William."

Drusilla gave him a mischievous look as she set the watermelon on the bed and then reached over and tapped him on the nose with her finger. "Naughty mummy. Mustn't say William, mustn't say Willy. It's _Spike_ now."

Spike swatted her hand away with an angry growl, but she ignored him, her attention already focused on the melon again. After a while, she began to sing.

"I'm sorry, Dru," Spike finally sighed. "I'm sorry that I didn't come to Miss Edith's tea party, I'm sorry that I forgot to pack Miss Margaret along when we left Paris, and I'm sorry I called you a crazy bitch." He sat up again, scowling at the melon that seemed to look far too smug for a fruit as it rested in Drusilla's lap. "There, I've said it. I'm sorry. Now will you please get rid of the goddamned watermelon? And when I say god-damned, I mean it. That _thing_ you made is unnatural."

Drusilla looked at him, horrified, and then put her hands on the watermelon, presumably in an attempt to cover its non-existent ears. "Naughty, wicked Spike. Mustn't say evil things, you'll frighten poor William."

"Brrrl," agreed William, and snuggled deeper into the folds of Drusilla's dress.

* * *

In the end, it took Drusilla two days to forget her new baby and two more for Spike to dare to smuggle it out of the house while she was hunting. He waited until she had left, and slipped the watermelon into a burlap sack because the accusing look on its non-existant face was giving him the jitters, and because, frankly, the thing was starting to smell.

He walked as far from their cottage as he could while still being able to return before sunrise, and then shook the melon out of the sack, dropping it down to the side of the road.

"Can't say that I'll miss you, brother," he said, and kicked the watermelon to pieces.

* * *

Anton was returning home from the tavern when a small odd lump at the side of the road suddenly caught his eye. At first he thought it was a wad of cloth, but when he crouched down for a closer look, he saw that it was a smashed watermelon lying next to an empty burlap sack. He frowned. There were no watermelon fields for miles, and in the poverty-ridden countryside, no-one would simply abandon food on the side of the road like that. Anton quickly glanced in both direction and, when there was no-one in sight, reached down to pick up one of the larger pieces.

He had barely touched the fruit when he felt a sudden sharp sting of pain and jerked his hand back. He raised his hand to his face for a closer look and saw blood pooling from a deep cut in his palm. "What the-"

Anton didn't have time to finish his thought when something wet and soft tore into his throat.

When the screams finally died, there was a moment's deep silence before William, now restored to his full strength, rose from the ditch and rolled onto the road.

"Brrrl," said William, and set out towards the horizon.


End file.
